by Maj Sjowall
B: Did you meet anyone that day?
E: Sure, I met Brigitte Bardot. How the hell can I know if I met anyone. It was a few years ago.
B: Okay. We'll start over. Last summer, when you were working on the Diana, did you meet anyone or any of the passengers?
E: I didn't meet any passengers. We didn't get to meet the passengers anyway. And even if we had, I wasn't interested. A bunch of snotty tourists. The hell with them.
B: What's the name of your buddy who also worked on the Diana?
E: Why? What's this all about anyway? We didn't do anything.
B: What's his name?
E: Roffe.
B: First name and last name.
E: Roffe Sjöberg.
B: Where is he now?
E: He's on some German boat. I don't know where the hell he is. Maybe he's in Kuala Lampur. I don't know.
Martin Beck gave up. He turned off the tape recorder and j got up. Eriksson began to stretch slowly to get out of his chair.
'Sit down," roared Martin Beck. "Sit there until I tell you to get up."
He called in to Ahlberg who stood in the doorway five seconds later.
'Get up," said Martin Beck, and went out of the room ahead of him.
When Ahlberg came back to his office Martin Beck was sitting beside his desk. He looked up at him and shrugged his shoulders.
'Let's go and eat now," he said. "I'll try again later."
15
At nine-thirty the next morning Martin Beck sent for Eriksson for the third time. The examination continued for two hours and brought equally poor results.
When Eriksson slouched out of the room escorted by a young constable, Martin Beck put the tape recorder on rewind and went to get Ahlberg. They listened to the tape mostly in silence which was broken only now and then by Martin Beck's short comments.
A few hours later they were sitting in Ahlberg's office.
'Well, what do you think?"
'It wasn't he," said Martin Beck. "I'm almost sure of it. In the first place he isn't intelligent enough to keep up the mask. He simply doesn't understand what it's all about He's not faking."
'Maybe you're right," said Ahlberg.
'In the second place, and this is only instinct, but I'm convinced of it in any case. We know a little about Roseanna McGraw, don't we?"
Ahlberg nodded.
'So it's very hard for me to believe that she would willingly go to bed with Karl-Ĺke Eriksson."
'No, that's right. She was willing, but not with just anyone. But who said that she did willingly?"
'Yes. It must have been that way. She met someone that she thought she would like to go to bed with and by the time it had gone far enough for her to discover her mistake, it was too late. But it wasn't Karl-Ĺke Eriksson."
'It could have happened some other way," said Ahlberg doubtfully.
'How? In that tiny cabin? Someone forced open the door and threw himself on her? She would have fought and screamed like mad and people on board would have heard her."
'He could have threatened her. With a knife or maybe a pistol."
Martin Beck shook his head slowly. Then he got up quick ly and walked over to the window. Ahlberg followed him with his eyes.
'What should we do with him?" asked Ahlberg. "I can't hold him much longer." I
'I'd like to talk with him one more time. I don't think he really knows why he is here. I am going to tell him now."
Ahlberg got up and put on his jacket. Then he went out.
Martin Beck remained seated for a while, thinking. After that he sent for Eriksson, took his briefcase and went into the examining room next door.
'What the hell is all this about?" asked Eriksson. "I haven't done anything. You can't keep me here when I haven't done anything. God damn it…"
'Be quiet until I tell you you can talk. You are here to answer my questions," said Martin Beck.
He took out the retouched photograph of Roseanna McGraw and held it up in front of Eriksson.
'Do you recognize this woman?" he asked.
'No," Eriksson answered. "Who is she?"
'Look carefully at the picture and then answer. Have you ever seen the woman in this photograph?"
'No."
'Are you sure?"
Eriksson placed one elbow on the back of his chair and rubbed his nose with his index finger.
'Yes. I've never laid eyes on the dame."
'Roseanna McGraw. Does that name mean anything to you?"
'What a hell of a name. Is this a joke?"
'Have you heard the name Roseanna McGraw before?"
'No."
'Then I'm going to tell you something. The woman in the photograph is Roseanna McGraw. She was an American and a passenger on the Diana's first trip out of Stockholm on July 3. The Diana was delayed on that trip by twelve hours, first due to fog south of Oxelösund and then due to an engine breakdown. You have already said that you were on that trip. When the vessel arrived in Gothenberg ten hours off schedule Roseanna McGraw wasn't on it. She was killed during the night between July 4-5 and was found three days later in the lock chamber at Borenshult."
Eriksson sat straight up in his chair. He grabbed the arm rests and chewed on the left corner of his mouth.
'Is that why…? Do you think that…?"
He pressed the palms of his hands together, placed his hands tightly between his knees and bent forward so that his chin nearly rested on the desk. Martin Beck saw how the skin on the bridge of his nose had paled.
'I haven't murdered anyone! I've never seen that dame! I swear!"
Martin Beck said nothing. He kept looking directly at the man's face and saw the fear grow in his enlarged eyes.
When he spoke his voice was dry and toneless.
'Where were you and what were you doing on the night of July 4-5?"
'In my cabin. I swear! I was in my cabin sleeping! I haven't done anything! I've never seen that dame! It isn't true!"
His voice rose to a falsetto and he threw himself back in his chair. His right hand went up to his mouth and he began to bite on his thumb while he stared at the photograph in front of him. Then his eyes narrowed and his voice became thin and hysterical.
'You're trying to trick me. You think you can frighten me, don't you? All that about the girl is fake. You've talked with Roffe and that devil said it was me. He's squealed. He did it, not me. I haven't done anything. That's the truth. I haven't done anything. Roffe said it was me, didn't he? He said it."
Martin Beck didn't take his eyes away from the man's face.
'That bastard. He fixed the lock and he stole the money."
He bent forward and his voice became eager. The words poured out of him.
'He forced me to go along with it. He had worked in that damn building. It was his idea all along. I didn't want to. I said so. I refused. I didn't want to have anything to do with such a thing. But he forced me, that damned louse. He squealed, that ass…"
'Okay," said Martin Beck. "Roffe squealed. You'd better tell me everything now."
One hour later he played back the tape for Larsson and Ahlberg. There was a complete confession of a burglary which Karl-Ĺke Eriksson and Roffe Sjöberg had committed in a garage in Gothenburg one month earlier.
When Larsson had left to telephone to the Gothenburg police, Ahlberg said: "In any case we know where we have him for the time being."
He sat quietly for a while and drummed on the desk.
'Now there are about fifty possible suspects left," said Ahlberg. "If we go on the premise that the murderer was among the passengers."
Martin Beck remained silent and looked at Ahlberg who sat with his head down and seemed to be examining his fingernails. He looked just as depressed as Martin Beck had felt when he realized that the examination of Eriksson wasn't leading anywhere.
'Are you disappointed?" he asked.
'Yes, I'll have to admit it. For a while I really thought we were there and now it seems that we have just as far to go."
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'We've made some progress in any case. Thanks to Kafka."
The telephone rang and Ahlberg answered it. He sat listening for a long while with the receiver pressed against his ear. Then he cried suddenly:
"Ja, ja, ich bin hier. Ahlberg hier."
'Amsterdam," he said to Martin Beck who left the room discreetly.
While he was washing his hands he thought 'an, auf, hinter, in, neben, über, unter, vor, zwischen,' and he was reminded of the first sticky odor of a room many years ago and of a round table with a baize cloth and an elderly teacher with a thin German grammar book between her fat fingers. When he went back Ahlberg had just put down the phone.
'What a language," he said. "Roffe Sjöberg wasn't on the boat. He had signed on in Gothenburg but he never went on board. Well, that will be Gothenburg's headache now."
Martin Beck slept on the train. He didn't wake up before it arrived in Stockholm. He really only woke up when he got into his own bed at home.
16
At ten minutes after five Melander tapped at the door. He waited about five seconds before he showed his long, thin face in the door opening and said: "I thought I'd leave now. Is that all right?"
He had no official reason for asking but he went through the same process every day. On the other hand, he never bothered to announce his arrival in the morning.
'Certainly," said Martin Beck. "So long."
After a moment he added, "Thanks for your help today."
Martin Beck remained and listened to the work day die away. The telephones were the first to become silent, then the typewriters, and then the sound of voices stopped until finally even the footsteps in the corridors could no longer be heard.
At five-thirty he called home.
'Shall we wait for dinner?"
'No, go ahead and eat."
'Will you be late?"
'I don't know. It's possible."
'You haven't seen the children for ages."
Without doubt he had both seen and heard them less than nine hours ago, but she knew that just as well as he.
'Martin?"
'Yes."
'You don't sound well. Is it anything special?"
'No, not at all. We have a lot to do."
'Is that all?"
'Yes, of course."
Now she sounded like herself again. The moment had passed. A few of her standard phrases and the discussion was over. He had held the receiver to his ears and heard the click when she put hers down. A click, and empty silence and it was as if she were a thousand miles away. Years had passed since they had really talked.
He wrinkled his forehead and sighed and looked at the papers on his desk. Each one of them had something to say about Roseanna McGraw and the last days of her life. He was sure of that. And still, they didn't tell him anything.
It seemed meaningless to read through all of them once again but he probably should do it anyway, and do it now. He would start soon.
He stretched out his hand to get a cigarette but the package was empty. He threw it into the wastepaper basket and reached in the pocket of his jacket for another pack. During the past few weeks he had smoked twice as much as he usually did and he felt it, both in his wallet and in his throat. It seemed that he had used up his reserve pack because the only thing he found in his pockets was something that he did not immediately recognize.
It was a postcard, bought at a tobacco shop in Motala. It showed the lock chamber at Borenshult seen from above. The lake and the breakwater were in the background and two men were in the process of opening the sluice gates for a passenger boat rising in the foreground. The picture was obviously quite old because the ship on the photograph no longer existed. Her name was Astrea and she had long since succumbed to the wreckers and the blowtorches.
But then, at the time when the photograph was taken, it had been summer and suddenly he remembered the fresh odor of flowers and wet shrubbery.
Martin Beck opened a drawer and took out his magnifying glass. It was shaped like a scoop and there was an electric battery in the handle. When he pressed the button, the object under study was illuminated with a small bulb. It was a good photograph and he could quite clearly make out the skipper on the port side of the bridge and several of the passengers who were hanging on the railing. The forward deck of the ship was loaded with cargo, still another sign that the picture was far from new.
He had just moved his glance slightly to the right when Kollberg walloped on the door with his fists and walked in.
'Hi, were you frightened?"
'Frightened to death," answered Martin Beck and felt his heart skip a beat.
'Haven't you gone home yet?"
'Sure. I'm sitting three stories up in my apartment and eating chicken."
'By the way, when do we get paid?"
'Tomorrow, I hope."
Kollberg collapsed in the visitor's chair.
They sat quietly for a while. Finally Kollberg said: "That was a flop, wasn't it? Examining that tough guy you went down and mangled?"
'He didn't do it."
'Are you absolutely sure?"
'No."
'Do you feel sure?"
'Yes."
'That's good enough for me. When you get right down to it there is a difference between seducing a twelve year old girl and killing a full grown woman."
'Yes."
'And anyway, she would never have gone for a type like that. Not if I've read my Kafka right."
'No," Martin Beck agreed with conviction. "She wouldn't have."
'What did the guy in Motala think? Was he disappointed?"
'Ahlberg? Yes, somewhat. But he's stubborn. What did Melander say, by the way?"
'Nothing. I've know that fellow since our training days and the only thing that ever depressed him was tobacco rationing."
Kollberg took out a notebook with a black cover and thumbed through it thoughtfully.
'While you were away I went through everything again. I tried to make up a summary."
'Yes?"
'I asked myself, for example, the question that Hammar is going to ask us tomorrow: What do we know?"
'And what did you answer?"
'Wait a minute. It's better if you answer. What do we know about Roseanna McGraw?"
'A little. Thanks to Kafka."
'That's right. I would even venture to say that we know all the important factors about her. Further: what do we know about the actual murder?"
'We have the scene of the crime. We also know approximately how and when it happened."
'Do we actually know where it happened?"
Martin Beck drummed his fingers on the top of the desk. Then he said:
'Yes. In cabin 7 on board the Diana."
'According to the blood-type that's right. But that would never hold as evidence."
'No, but we know it," said Martin Beck quickly.
'Okay. We'll pretend that we know it. When?"
'On the night of July 4. After dark. In any event sometime after dinner which ended at eight o'clock. Presumably sometime between nine o'clock and midnight."
'How? Yes, on that point we have the autopsy report. We can also guess that she undressed herself, of her own free will. Or possibly under threat for her life. But that doesn't seem likely."
'No."
'And so, last but not least, what do we know about the culprit?"
Kollberg answered his own question in twenty seconds: "That the person in question is a sadist and sexually twisted."
'That the person in question is a, man," Martin Beck added.
'Yes, most likely. And pretty strong. Roseanna McGraw was clearly not dropped off a wagon."
'We know that he was on board the Diana."
'Yes, if we assume that our earlier theory was correct."
'And that he must belong in one of two categories: passengers or the crew."
'Do we really know that?"
It was silent in the room. Martin Beck massaged his hairline with the tips of h
is fingers. Finally he said: "It must be so."
'Must it?"
'Yes."
'All right, we'll say it is. But on the other hand, we don't have any idea what the murderer looks like or of his nationality. We have no fingerprints and nothing that can tie him to the crime. We don't know if he knew Roseanna McGraw earlier. We don't know where he came from, or where he went or where we could find him today."
Kollberg was very serious now.
'We know damned little, Martin," he said. "Are we even absolutely sure that Roseanna McGraw didn't step off the boat in Gothenburg safe and sound? That someone didn't kill her afterwards? Someone who knew where she had come from and who might have transported her body back to Motala and then thrown it in?"
'I've thought of it. But it's too absurd. Things don't happen that way."
'Since we haven't yet received the menu from the boat for those days, it is still theoretically possible. Even if it stretches the imagination. And even if we manage to prove, really prove, that she never got to Gothenburg, there is still another possibility: she could have gone ashore while the boat was in the lock chamber at Borenshult and met some nut who was wandering around in the bushes."
'In that case we ought to have found something." "Yes, but 'ought to' is a weak concept. There are things in this case that almost drive me crazy. How in hell could she disappear during half the trip without anyone noticing it, not even the room steward or the waiter in the dining room?"
'The person who killed her must have stayed on board. He arranged the cabin to make it look normal and used. It was only a question of one night."
'Where did the sheets go? And the blankets? They must have had blood on them. He couldn't very well just sit down and start doing laundry. And if he had thrown everything in the water, where did he get fresh things from?"
'There wasn't that much blood, the autopsy didn't say so. And if the person who killed her was familiar with the vessel, he could have gotten fresh bedding from the supply closet."
'Would a passenger be that much at home on the boat? And wouldn't someone notice?"
'It isn't so hard. Have you ever been on a passenger ship at night?" "No."
'Everyone goes to sleep. It's completely quiet and empty. Almost all the closets and cupboards are unlocked. When this boat passed Lake Vättern, during the night watch, there were only three people who were definitely awake. Those on watch, two on the bridge and one in the engine room."